The Arya Initiative
by JenniferofHouseStark
Summary: Gradually becoming more than one shot. A black-skinned stranger with an eye patch arrives in Winterfell seeking an audience with Arya Stark...who is he and what does he want?
1. Chapter 1

Arya chewed her lip. One of the servants had come to tell her she had a visitor, and she was trying to suss out who it could possibly be as she slid Needle into its home at her side.

_Maybe they've got it wrong. Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell; they probably want to talk to her. _

Although conversation was not a strong point of Arya's- she preferred fighting to greeting strangers to Winterfell- she would go down and see who it was.

_It can't possibly be someone from King's Landing. _

As she snatched the old coin that Jaqen H'ghar had given her once from under her pillow, her heart suddenly stopped.

_What if it IS him? What if he wants to show me how to change my face?_

As she flung the door open and the sounds of talk and smell of the kitchens came to her, she dismissed the thought.

_It couldn't be. He doesn't know where Winterfell is… but that wouldn't stop Jaqen. _

Her footsteps were silent as she flitted down the corridor.

_Light as a feather._ The memory of Syrio Forel brought her to a halt, when she suddenly remembered Beric Dondarrion brought back from the dead, reborn in the flames of the Lord of Light.

_That was far too long ago. He would have found me sooner. A master would never leave his pupil untaught. _

She continued to run.

As she went past a tapestry hung upon the wall, she stopped once more. The Direwolf was Grey, like the Stark Sigil, but the skills of the weaver had been so masterful that it appeared white in the light of the moon suspended in the upper corner.

_What if it's JON? _As she ran even faster, her heart flying, she could feel his warm hand mussing her hair, his smile as he had given her Needle, his voice when he had told her to stick them with the pointy end.

As she neared the bottom of a staircase, through a window the shadow of a raven streaked across her face. She remembered the last raven they had received. It had said Jon had been elected the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and she knew Lords were far too busy doing Lord things to bother visiting sisters.

But yet as she neared the Great Hall, where someone unknown awaited her arrival, there was a voice within whispering_ he's coming home where he belongs. _

_You'll find out in a moment. _

She placed both hands on the enormous oak doors and they swung open with a mighty groan, announcing her arrival.

The Great Hall was well lit, with a roaring fireplace burning merrily away. In front of it stood…well…he was not Jon Snow or Jaqen H'ghar.

_Syrio had dark skin like him, but his is much darker. He's even got Syrio's bald head. _

She took a few tentative, silent steps. The doors shut with a thunderous _boom. _

They were alone.

Whoever he was, he looked unlike anything Arya had ever seen before. For a moment she took him for a man of the Night's Watch, for he was dressed all in black. But as she neared him she realised he did not wear the furs required for life on the Wall. She couldn't quite say what material it was he wore for a coat, but it looked more like leathery skin than anything else. The boots on his feet were even more foreign. _Do they really dress like that in the Free Cities? _

He had to be from beyond the Narrow Sea. No one in Westeros dressed like that.

_He might even be from beyond the Jade Sea. _

The feeling of wonder was quickly overshadowed by suspicion, and she placed one hand safely on Needle's hilt.

As if he had been waiting for this action, the stranger turned to face her. It was then that Arya saw he wore an eye patch. Sprouting from beneath where his eye should have been were scars shaped like the veins on her wrist.

_Perhaps Beric Dondarrion took his eye, and he took Beric's in return. _

The eye that stared at her was hard but respectful. When he opened his mouth to speak Arya heard an accent that she doubted was from beyond even the Jade Sea.

"Arya Stark?"

It had a certain edge to it, whereas people in Braavos had elegant, curving accents and those Westerosi-born spoke as plainly as the land. This voice was completely different. It sounded as if it had spoken a War entirely on its own.

"Yes? Who are you?" She made a reply, hoping she sounded as unforgiving and wise as he did. Yet she couldn't escape her excitement at the same time.

"My name is Nick Fury," He explained, as her heart quickened,

"I am here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative."


	2. Chapter 2

It's been weeks, as I've been preoccupied with other things... but here at last is another excerpt from Arya's initiation into SHIELD! These are not in chronological order. I just get ideas for shots, they might be one sentence or conversation between characters, and they develop into what is the actual writing. :)

* * *

The cell was dank and dark like the mournful passages of Harrenhal. Arya remembered when she had been the Ghost there, killing with a whisper.

She was looking at a deathly pale man with black hair, who was sitting in the cell against one wall with a chain around his neck like a dog. If he was any relation to any of the Westerosi houses, she would have guessed at House Baratheon, by the inky hair. But the cruel grin in his eyes was too much like Cersei Lannister. Either way he was certainly not a Stark, not like the one called 'Tony' claimed to be.

_Not a Wolf. They can't be chained. _

He raised his head and stared back at her. When his eyes met hers, he gave an unnerving _heh heh heh _and rolled his head back, as if her presence was funny. _Needle won't find it as funny._ His voice was oddly soft, but in it there was a lie. It reminded her of how Joffrey had spoken to Sansa at first, back when her sister thought he was wonderful. Before he had choked.

"The assassin could not break me. The director could not. Neither could the metal man, the monster or the archer. So now they send me a child."

_I'm no child, _she wanted to say. She didn't like the way he stared at her. The name that the fair-haired God had told her matched this man perfectly. It would sound even better in her nightly prayer.

"Valar Morghulis." Her voice was barely audible, but he seemed able to hear her thoughts.

"How poetic. Does this little curse carry any meaning?"

"All men must die."

"I sincerely hope that does not apply to me."

"You're a man aren't you?"

"Unique among all others."

"Valar Dohaeris," She muttered, not caring if he heard her. Again came the questioning. And again she answered. "All men must serve."

"All men must serve?" The dark eyes glinted as the mouth twisted into a smile. "Now _that _I like."


End file.
